Lar visits a special prisoner

Lar’s hands sprang open as he leapt away, and the heavy iron ward clattered onto the stones. The coffin lid had begun to open the instant he had lifted the seal, as if the woman had been tensed and waiting for that moment for months.

Fortunately he was able to dash back into the passage and pull the gate shut again before she could rise. The corridor echoed with a second clang of iron, but he did not care who heard.

So long as it was not the elf Dre.

In spite of her quick reaction to the lifting of the binding ward, she stumbled only slowly out of her coffin and down from the dais. Her arms and legs swung like the limbs of a dead animal, sometimes wrenched back into a semblance of life by the twitch of a muscle or the recoil of a joint snapped into too straight a line.

Her progress across the floor was a hideous dance, and he recoiled instinctively from her as from an animal unfit to eat by reason of madness. However, she seemed to have learned the use of her body again by the time she reached the gate, for her hand shot out between the bars and snatched at him.

Lar had not been foolish enough to stand within the reach of her arms.

“Elf!” she growled in frustrated fury. “Your mother licked the balls of dogs!”

Lar laughed.

“Let me out of here!”

“I don’t want to let you out. I want to talk to you.”

“Why would I talk to you?”

“Do you ever want to get out of here?”

“You never will let me out.” She pressed her face against the bars and squealed, “You’re afraid I shall eat you!”

Lar stared at her, unblinking.

She pulled her head away and tossed her tangled hair back from her eyes. “I wouldn’t though,” she purred. “I would be grateful to the particular elves who set me free. Indeed, I might be convinced to go out in search of special enemies of yours.”

She passed her hand through the bars again, reaching out to attempt some caressing gesture, but Lar stood just out of reach. She yanked her arm back, briefly betraying her anger, though her voice was a dove’s coo when she spoke again.

“Don’t you have any special enemies, Lar?”

“Right now I have only one special enemy, and that’s why I’m here. I want you to tell me what you know about the elf Dre.”

“You’ve made an enemy of Dre?” she laughed. “Foolish boy.”

“That gives us something in common, Hel. Convince me you can help me get rid of him, and I might let you free after all.”

She snorted, but her movements slowed. She appeared to be considering the possibilities, and he spoke before she had a chance to weigh them.

“What is he? He’s not an elf.”

“Why are you asking me, if you already know?”

“I know what he is not. He told the Khir he is a creature of the dark moon or of the dark place. Which is he?”

She sniffed and waved her hand at him. “Suppose he’s both? What does that tell you? Nothing. You elves have no knowledge of such things.”

“And you men do?”

“Of course. You don’t even have a word for such as he, which is why he told you what he did. The men call him a daemon.”

“Dae-​​mon,” he repeated. “What is that?”

She groaned and flung up her hands. “A very powerful creature,” she muttered. “He has more magic than any elf. Not all daemons do, but he does. A dark, dark magic.”

“What can I do to get rid of him?”

“If I knew that, would I be here?” she cried.

“What did he do to you?”

“He taught me how to live forever, in exchange for setting him free. Now I only want to die, and he has no interest in setting me free.”

“Could he?”

“I don’t doubt it. But he can’t be controlled. I don’t think so. I did everything according to the rites, and he was still more powerful than I.”

“What rites?”

“The rites for summoning daemons! According to the teachings of Solomon.” She snorted. “You don’t even know the name, do you? You don’t even know how to read, do you, elf?”

“Is it written in books? We have books.”

“My dear Lar, surely you realize that every book is different, and some books tell about one thing, and some books tell of another, and very few books tell of daemons? I think it unlikely you have the books that would serve. You would need my books.”

“The Khir has your books.”

“Oh, does he?” she sneered. “Then once you have become powerful enough to steal books from the Khir, and once you have become clever enough to learn how to read, then you will be in the unenviable position of knowing how to summon Dantalion without being able to control him.”

“Dantalion?”

“That is Dre’s true name. I do not know his true face, but I think it is not what you have seen. He has the power to change into any form he likes, elf or man or animal. But he must always wear the mark on his head or his hand or his paw. So you may know him. Not that it will help you. He also has the power to look into your thoughts, if you are weak enough.”

“Sometimes he knows things I have only thought…” Lar murmured.

“Then you are doomed,” she cackled. “He will know you came to me to ask about him.”

“What can I do against him?”

“If I knew that, would I be here?” She grasped the bars and rattled the gate on its hinges.

“Perhaps you were simply not powerful enough.”

“And you are? He read my mind like a book – not that you would know how that is – so I shudder to think of what he could do to you.”

“Leave the shuddering to me, Hel. I can take care of myself.”

Her malicious smile slowly sweetened like a rotting fruit. “Won’t you let me out now, dear Lar? I talked to you, as you wished. And perhaps I can be of some help.”

“From what you told me, you won’t be of any help at all against Dre.”

“Lar!” she snarled, and then she forced calmness into her voice to ask, “What about some other special enemies of yours? I’m certain I could help.”

“One special enemy at a time, Hel.” He smiled. “Don’t forget that you yourself are very, very special to me.”

She spat in his face – some rancid concoction that she must have been brewing in her dead mouth since she had last been awoken.

Lar did not laugh. He only wiped his cheek on his sleeve and walked away.